


i take my cue from you

by teenageraccoon



Series: this time-bound conscience [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Separation Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22582321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenageraccoon/pseuds/teenageraccoon
Summary: His head hurts. He knows that he’s hungry and exhausted and skittish, but the only thing he’s able tofeelis the pounding in his skull and the way the light feels like it’s burning through his fucking corneas.Steve’s been nagging him all day, which Bucky can’t blame him for. He knows he’s being frustrating and uncooperative and harsh and a dick and Jesus, how he wishes he could juststop, but nothing in life is that easy because why would it be. It’s not like anything else is.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: this time-bound conscience [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517654
Comments: 5
Kudos: 90





	i take my cue from you

His head hurts.

He knows that he’s hungry and exhausted and skittish, but the only thing he’s able to _feel_ is the pounding in his skull and the way the light feels like it’s burning through his fucking corneas.

Steve’s been nagging him all day, which Bucky can’t exactly blame him for. He knows he’s being frustrating and uncooperative and harsh and a dick and Jesus, how he wishes he could just _stop_ , stop being so much work all the fucking time but nothing in life is that easy because why would it be. It’s not like anything else is.

He hasn’t lost track of time, though, which is something. Sometimes he thinks it would be easier if he could at will, just force his mind to shut off, but then he remembers the way it makes his skin crawl for ages afterwards and just how badly it scares and confuses and upsets him. So it’s probably better that he can’t.

He hasn’t seen Steve in a while but he can hear the tv turned on, making noise along with the electricity and all the other appliances in the apartment. He hasn’t seen the dumb cat in a while, either. She’s mad at him, he’s pretty sure, because she’d been pawing and biting at him nonstop and he accidentally poked her eye when he pushed her away and she yowled and raised her back and stalked off.

He would get up and go find her and bribe her back with one of the ridiculous all-organic freeze dried chicken treats that Steve got, but the last thing he can handle right now is getting up, so he doesn’t. He sits there on the floor of the guest bedroom with his back against the wall and his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose because it takes the pressure off of his skull somehow.

The overwhelming paranoia hasn’t resurfaced for a while and there’s been times when he’s thought about ripping down the layers of newspaper he used to cover up the window early on. It’s times like this that he’s thankful he didn’t.

He’s not sure what’s worse, closing his eyes or not. If he closes them he sees flashes of whatever awful thing his brain decides to dredge up for that moment’s imagery. If he doesn’t then it makes his head feel like it’s about to explode. It’s a lose-lose, which isn’t surprising, but God, he fucking _hates_ it.

“Hey,” Steve says, and Bucky damn near jumps out of his fucking skin because he doesn’t remember Steve ever coming into the room, like it never properly registered in his brain.

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” he swears, “what?”

“Sorry.” Steve grimaces a little at having startled him. “How’re you holding up?”

“Like shit, like you could carve my fucking brains out with a melon scoop and that would be less fucking painful, like I’m going to stab myself in the goddamn eyes.” His voice gets shaky on the last few words. He registers that late too, and his breath hitches when he does. “I feel like– _fuck_ , like I fucking–” He can’t finish the sentence and he sputters a little, bringing his hand up to scratch at his jaw while he tries to get his heart rate under some semblance of control.

“Okay,” Steve says when it becomes apparent that Bucky can’t finish. “Here, come on, you should get your shirt off.” At the mention of it, Bucky feels the shirt up around his neck, feeling way too fucking similar to the collar. He coughs and chokes a bit while he leans away from the wall but manages to pull the shirt off before he resorts to ripping it away from him in his panic. Steve gets up and grabs one of the hair bands off the nightstand and holds it out. Bucky stares at it.

“C’mon, I fucking– that’s not happening.” He holds up his right hand to show Steve how badly he’s shaking.

“Buck,” Steve says, voice urgent. “You need to breathe, Bucky, you’re going to pass out.” He sits down across from Bucky, out of arm’s reach. “Here, just do your best with your hair before you start pulling at it. I don’t want to stand over you right now.” Steve tosses him the elastic anyways and Bucky tries to tie it back the best he can. He gets most of it off his neck and he can’t lie, it feels better, makes him feel a little less like he’s crawling up his own fucking spine.

“Alright,” Steve says. His voice sounds off somehow but Bucky isn’t sure how, doesn’t have the mental energy to decipher tone and what the fuck it means.

“I’m dying,” Bucky manages to force out between too fast breaths.

“You’re not dying, Buck, you’re panicking. You’re home, okay, all safe. All safe. Just keep on breathing–” Bucky inhales shakily, shallowly. “–Yeah, there you go, like that.” Bucky tries again, chokes, and winces away from nothing in particular. He scratches at his jaw again, harder this time, because the skin feels wrong and he’s fucking desperate to fix it and doesn’t know how to say that. “Hey, stop that,” Steve says firmly. He moves towards Bucky slowly and Bucky’s heart rate skyrockets. “Here.” Steve holds out both hands, palms up. Bucky frowns.

“What–?”

“Hold my hands, come on. You can shave in a few minutes but you got some pretty good scratches in there.” Bucky stares, still rubbing at his face. “Buck, come on, you got to stop scratching at your jaw.” Steve sounds almost pleading and Bucky grits his teeth but lowers his hand. “Yeah, there you go, thank you,” Steve says. “You’re okay. Just keep breathing. You want Alpine?”

“Cat’s mad.”

“No she’s not,” Steve says, “she’s just on the couch and she kept batting at me until I’d pet her, and she likes you more than me.”

“You should go back,” Bucky makes himself say, because he clearly dragged Steve away from something.

“I don’t have anywhere to be, Buck, and unless you tell me to leave, I’m going to stay. You want me to go get Alpine?” Bucky feels sick at the thought of Steve leaving and shakes his head, then flinches because the motion made his headache feel a hundred times worse. 

“Stop, don’t– don’t leave. Sorry.” 

“It’s all okay,” Steve says, “you’re okay. No need to be sorry. I’m staying right here, it’s okay, you’re safe. We’re safe.” He holds out his hands again and Bucky reaches out. He doesn’t quite touch Steve because his spatial awareness is all fucked up and their hands don’t meet when he expects them to. Steve meets his instead. He scoots forward so they’re not reaching so much.

Bucky flexes the fingers of his right hand a few times. He doesn’t feel them move but they must because Steve asks, “Need me to let go?” He shakes his head again and grits his teeth at the pain it induces. “Can’t feel stuff?”

“Yeah,” he says, and then frowns. “No? I can’t– no. Can’t feel stuff.”

“It’ll come back soon, Buck, it’s okay. You’re alright, just keep breathing, I’ve got you.” He moves his fingers again and feels Steve squeeze back lightly and he jumps a little. “That okay?”

“Yeah, that’s– okay. Yeah.”

“You’re shivering a little, you know if you’re cold or just–” Steve makes some sort of motion to his head. “–a bit out of it right now?”

“Don’t know.”

“Think you can get up?”

“Yes,” he says out of habit, then pauses. “Maybe. Don’t know.” Steve stands up and extends his hand again and this time Bucky’s able to take it, hauling himself to his feet. He stumbles a bit but Steve’s got a good brace on him.

“You good? Dizzy at all?”

“No– yes? Dizzy.”

“Okay,” Steve says calmly, like this is a normal fucking thing to have happening. “Lean into me?” Bucky does and lets Steve guide him into the living room. It’s bright and the television is still on and he feels like his skull is about to fucking explode.

“‘S all hurts.”

“I know, Buck.” Steve says and sounds fucking miserable. “Give me a second.” Bucky closes his eyes and reopens them when he’s hit with the memory of slashing a Ukrainian student’s carotid, blood spraying out everywhere.

“ _Fuck_.” It’s mostly said to himself, but Steve, who’s turned off the tv and is in the middle of lowering all the blinds, looks over questioningly. “You shouldn’t need to be fucking doing this.”

“I don’t need to.”

“You shouldn’t fucking _want_ to, you shouldn’t fucking do it _period_ , if you’d just stop being so goddamn stubborn all the goddamn time.” Steve sits next to Bucky and Bucky lets himself be maneuvered in between Steve’s legs. It’s not like there’s anything to lose.

“What I _want_ is to be with you, Bucky.” Steve’s hand moves down Bucky’s chest, down his torso, to grab the throw blanket that’s wedged between them and the couch cushions and pull it over Bucky’s upper body. “If it’s a good day or a bad day, I’ve spent enough time not being with you.”

“That’s stupid bullshit and you fucking know it, Steve.”

“I don’t know it, is the thing.”

“I shouldn’t still fucking be here.” He rubs at his ear. “Fucking– All I fucking do is weigh you down.”

“Nope,” Steve says. “Bucky, when you came back, I was _elated_ , I was the happiest damn person in the world, and every single day you’ve stayed since then has only made me happier.”

“It’ll be that type of sentimental bullshit that gets you.”

“Okay,” Steve says, “yeah, maybe. But I won’t stop believing it.”

“Fuck.” Bucky barks out a laugh. “Jesus, you never fucking stop.”

“Nope,” Steve repeats, popping the p. “How’s the migraine?”

“Fucking awful.” Steve makes a sympathetic sound.

“You know the last time you slept?”

“Few days ago.”

“Food?”

“Few days ago.” Steve shifts, reaching behind himself, and– “Steve, come on, if I try to eat I’m just going to fucking throw up.”

“It’s just a few saltines,” Steve says, “I heated up some soup for lunch and I didn’t eat these.” There's a small plate being pressed into Bucky’s hands. “You need to get some food in you, though.” He shakily brings a cracker to his mouth and takes a bite, forcing himself to chew and swallow. The motion feels awful, the taste is awful even though they’re the blandest possible things. He wants to throw up.

“I can’t, Steve.”

“Need water?” Bucky moves to stand, but Steve touches his shoulder gently. “Let me,” he says, and Bucky doesn’t have it in him to argue. Without Steve there grounding him, his heart rate ratchets back up, the shivers coming back despite the blanket, and even though he tries to keep it unnoticeable, Steve frowns and looks over. “Buck?” Bucky startles and curses himself and looks back. “You okay?” He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to get a handle on his breathing before he opens his mouth to respond. Steve softens his voice again. “You having another one?”

“Steve–”

“Be right there, Buck.” He pulls out the hair tie and flinches when his hair hits the back of his neck, like he somehow forgot about the fucking cause and effect of that. Steve sits down next to him again and Bucky twitches away from him.

“Fuck.”

“Breathe, Bucky.”

“This isn’t– this isn’t _right_ , this isn’t real, this can’t be real, you aren’t– you weren’t–”

“I know. I’m real, I’m right here, I promise.” Bucky’s right hand is still shaky but he braces it against Steve’s leg, unable to feel the fabric of Steve’s pants or Steve’s skin against his own but feeling the unyieldingness of Steve’s muscle. “It’s real, we’re real, the cat’s real.”

“Cat?”

“Behind the tv,” Steve points out, and Bucky sees the little stupid furball for the first time since leaving the bedroom. Steve stands and picks her up, setting her on the couch so she can climb into Bucky’s lap.

She’s warm and heavy and soft. She starts purring nearly immediately.

“See?” Steve says. “She’s not mad.”

“I hurt her.”

“You just startled her a bit.” Bucky carefully moves his right hand to pet her back. “It okay if I touch your hair?”

Bucky takes a minute to decipher the question. “Yeah,” he breathes, “okay. It’s all– it fucking– _shit_ , Steve.”

“I know,” Steve says, moving his fingers through Bucky’s hair gently. “It’s okay, Buck. You focus on breathing and let me take care of the rest. It’s okay.” That’s fucking stupid, having to focus on breathing, having to fucking be _told_ to focus on breathing. He hates it and he hates himself for it.

Steve’s fingers are combing through his hair and keeping it away from his neck. The cat kneads at his thighs, pinpricks of claws not enough to hurt but enough to be felt. His hands are still shaking—right hand, at least—but he reaches out anyway. Steve ties his hair back for him and takes his hand, squeezing.

“You’re doing good, Buck,” he says, and Bucky hates how much he sounds like he actually believes that. “I know _you_ don’t believe that, but it’s true. You’re doing good.”

“Shit, Steve.” Bucky’s breathing is a little more under control, no longer making his vision fuzzy. “There’s no fucking way you can pretend this week hasn’t been all around fucking awful.”

“Sure, it’s been a rough few days,” he admits and Bucky snorts at the understatement. “But you’re here and you’re safe and you’re trying your goddamn hardest, Bucky.”

“And look at where my goddamn hardest fucking leaves us.”

“After everything, if you’d decided that you didn’t have it in you to keep trying, I wouldn’t have blamed you. I couldn’t. But you did, and you do, and I'm proud of you, that won’t ever change. But every single day, Buck, you wake up and you _still_ try your goddamn hardest and there’s nothing you can do to change the fact that you’re doing good just by that alone.”

“Shut up, sap,” Bucky says because there’s no fucking way in hell he can actually acknowledge the weight of what Steve just said. Steve hums.

“I’ll consider it,” he jokes, “but in the meantime, you should get some sleep.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Then you should come lay down and close your eyes for a while.” Bucky shrugs and Steve squeezes his hand. “Come on, you’re tired and frustrated beyond belief and I can only help one of those things.”

“Fine,” Bucky cedes. “I get to say ‘I told you so’ when I go fucking stircrazy.” Steve stands up and turns to wait for Bucky. 

“You can go run around the subway tomorrow when you’re not starving and headachey and mad.” Steve doesn’t waver under Bucky’s glower and Bucky drops the cat on the floor to drag himself off the couch.

The little idiot follows them, meowing the whole time, until Bucky gets situated in bed and Steve lays down across from him.

“You’re not going to get any fucking sleep, it’s the middle of the day and I’m too fucking restless for any of that.”

“Sure,” Steve says, “but I can lay down with you, and if you’re not sleeping either then it’s not a problem. Just let me be here.”

“Fine,” Bucky says again. “Stubborn son of a bitch.” Steve kisses his temple.

“Comes naturally. You comfortable?”

“Am I fucking ever comfortable, Steve,” Bucky deadpans. “This is as good as it’ll fucking get.”

“I’ll take that,” Steve says, and then they both go silent, Bucky laying with his eyes closed and his cat on his chest, Steve doing– he doesn’t know.

It’s a long time before Bucky finally says, “You really are a stupid stubborn son of a bitch if you think you don’t help with the fucking frustration too, Steve.”

Bucky doesn’t bother to open his eyes, but when Steve says, “Yeah, I’ll take that too,” Bucky can hear the smile in his voice.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a shameless vent fic. I haven't read over it so please let me know if I have any glaring errors.  
> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://teenageraccoon.tumblr.com).  
> 


End file.
